


No Redemption

by Flurry_X



Series: Nurmengard Castle Tales [1]
Category: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them (Movies)
Genre: M/M, Minor Albus Dumbledore/Gellert Grindelwald, Post-Movie 2: Fantastic Beasts: The Crimes of Grindelwald, Power Imbalance, Rough sex (hinted at)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-22
Updated: 2018-11-22
Packaged: 2019-08-27 15:28:55
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,455
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16705108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flurry_X/pseuds/Flurry_X
Summary: "He would watch the boy, sometimes, shrouded in darkness, unseen, he would watch his struggle, the deep bleeding edge of his soul, filled with doubt and fear and hope. He reminded him of himself, of Albus, of those forbidden desires and raw, unbridled power, a thirst he felt could never be satiated.Such a pull, a reckless and sinful desire, that he had felt from the very first moment and had fought hard to negate and push away.Until now"-----Snapshots of Credence's time at Nurmengard Castle with Grindelwald.Grindelwald POV





	No Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Snapshots of Credence's time at Nurmengard Castle with Grindelwald.  
> Grindelwald POV

'There is no harm in observing’ he thought to himself at first, and then 'there is no harm in teaching, making him stronger, making him useful’  
Credence was at his mercy, grappling with a strength he couldn't understand, needing a teacher, a guide, to reign it in, to control it. He longed to be valued, to prove himself worthy.  
The way he would take to his teachings, follow his orders, so eager to do well, to make him proud, it stirred something inside of him, hot and heavy and deep. It inebriated him, adrenaline coursing through his whole body, a shot of invincibility making him feel there was nothing that could stop him as long as the boy kept looking at him with those pleading eyes.  
He would force himself to remember, in those moments, the boy was just a shell, the frail and transient cage of a calamity just biding its time; he needed to survive, just a little longer, just long enough, to shape his power, until it could be unleashed. A tornado of pure electric energy, destructive and unstoppable.  
He had visions of it, clouds of raw power enveloping everything, demolishing every obstacle standing between him and his kingdom of freedom.  
And then the boy would be gone, Albus would be gone, and he only would be standing over their bodies, over everything else, the lone victor.  
For the greater good.

He could recognize it now, that crackling energy, dark and powerful and swirling just under the surface, just below the black twinkling depths of the boy’s eyes  
If he could only reach out and touch it, grab it, feel it coiling and twitching around his fingers.  
It was the same darkness, he knew it now, something inside of him could feel it, it resonated with the same vibrations, the same dark tune.  
He never believed it possible, thought the memory of it had been strengthened and enlarged by the years and the yearning, boundless in the way that only old memories can be.  
Albus, Ariana, that infinite darkness enveloping them all. Death.  
He never thought he'd see it again, so up close, so personal, so visceral.  
And yet the boy was standing in front of him, thin and fragile and at the same time strong, pulsating with a power he couldn't really understand.  
The tension in his lithe body, cursing through him like a live current, painful and burning and uncontrollable, was a fascinating spectacle, he thought, and it was for his eyes only.

He kept asking himself how he could have been so blind, how misguided his approach had been, that it almost costed him Credence's trust. How it had almost costed him his power.  
The boy had been warm clay in his hands, so open, so eager to be shaped, to be used, and he hadn’t seen it, he had pushed him away, he had been rash and blind, irritated at his own curiosity for that broken young man, begging and pleading for his attention.  
Now the boy was stronger, his self-awareness sitting right on the line of his shoulders, he looked broader, straighter, hardened. And yet still, he could see the longing, lashing furiously inside of him, the need to belong somewhere, to someone. And he was there, standing tall, powerful, inviting, offering everything the boy had ever wanted, giving him no choice but to give in.  
Giving enough of himself that he would keep craving more, but never enough that it would satiate him.  
Making him his.  
For the greater good.

He would watch the boy, sometimes, shrouded in darkness, unseen, he would watch his struggle, the deep bleeding edge of his soul, filled with doubt and fear and hope. He reminded him of himself, of Albus, of those forbidden desires and raw, unbridled power, a thirst he felt could never be satiated.  
Such a pull, a reckless and sinful desire, that he had felt from the very first moment and had fought hard to negate and push away.  
Until now.  
Now it seemed so close, just a step out of reach, inevitable.  
It made him drunk, it made him angry.

Sometimes the boy would turn, sensing his presence, feeling his gaze linger too long, and he would look straight at him, into him, with those deep black eyes. Fear and rebellion.  
And then he would feel it, the pull, deep deep deep, at the pit of his stomach, a burning, all encompassing, inevitable, desire.  
To touch, to linger, to wrap himself around that frail body and shield it from harm.  
Wave after wave of pulsating numbness, spreading to his limbs, to his mind, unwanted and dangerous, and clouding.  
And he wanted to bite, and bruise and choke it out, he wanted to possess, to give himself out, whole.  
His desire felt like an obscurus of its own, rebellious and unwanted and fatal.  
He wondered if the boy could feel it, if he could read the real morbid pull behind his glacial exterior.  
Sometimes it felt like he could, when he would get close, warm shaky breaths and trembling hands, his whole body like an exposed muscle, unable to conceal anything.  
Those times felt like their darknesses were communicating to each other, bypassing their flesh, their will, and just rubbing dry against one another, and it felt heavenly and it felt like the end.  
Their dark tendrils extending, invisible, in the space between their bodies, ignoring it, closing it, gripping them both so tightly they couldn't breathe.  
He relished those moments and he feared them, for every ounce of desire he let in, he lost an ounce of clarity and sharpness.  
If he let Credence in, like Albus before him, he would invade every last corner of him, steal his focus, settle like a warm dust over his ambitions.  
He would never let that happen again, and maybe the boy knew that too.

Maybe the boy knew, when he would brush his body against him, its edges sharp and yet languid, warm, longing. Maybe he knew the effect it had on him, deep down, or maybe he couldn’t help himself, powerless, stripped bare of any willpower in the presence of such a raving desire. Too young to fight it and to innocent to fully give in, like he had once been too.  
His movements fluid, his eyes tender and afraid, exuding a sensual power he didn’t seem to be aware of.  
In those moments the tables would turn. He would fall, weak, his mind then a slave to his bare instinct, prey of his own unspeakable longing for this boy, his boy.  
He would let that carnal desire wrap itself around his mind, his body, and take him closer to Credence, so close. And he would reach out, nothing but the boy in front of him, around him, his smell invading everything, him just gulping him down. The boy’s bare essence cascading down inside him filling him up, satiating every dry and hardened corner of his soul.  
The tender spaces of the boy's body, scarred and yet always so open, always making room for him, like he wanted to keep him there forever, never letting him go. The way the boy yearned to be touched, to be loved, to be filled and held tightly. It filled him with equal desire and rage, for something so open, naked and ready for him to take, so tender.  
He would hurl himself against the boy then, nails scraping and hands choking and bruising and taking. And the boy was his, again and again and again, ripe and tender and bleeding and beautiful.  
And it felt like the world wouldn’t live to see another day, another hour, like they existed in a suspended place, dark, warm and secret, and nobody could reach them, nothing could touch them. He had his kingdom then, and it was the boy’s body, and it was his and no one else’s.

Sometimes it almost felt like it would be enough, like the greater good was already between his arms, squirming between his legs, warm and strong, and nothing else mattered, because nothing else existed outside of the white spread of the boy's skin.

But it would end. It would always end.  
The inevitability of their chosen destinies draping itself over both of them like an old dusty blanket, suffocating, inescapable. And he would long for new battles to come, and he would long for the boy to never leave, torn between his ideals and his instincts.  
And then the cycle would start again, over and over, skin and teeth and deep, guttural, desire.  
The boy looking at him, imploring, taking him in, even when they both knew, “My boy”, he would whisper, “There is. No. Redemption”.

**Author's Note:**

> Haven't written any fan fiction in years but I watched the movie and I literally could not stop thinking about this.  
> It's not the most linear or polished piece but I hope it paints an interesting picture of their days at the Castle.  
> If you read this and liked it *please* consider letting me know with a comment, it would mean a lot and you might just pull me back into the fandom!  
> If people are interested I might post a Credence POV too, just lemme know!


End file.
